


Homecoming

by Ballades



Series: Questionable Chemistry [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Menstruation, Periods, Plot What Plot, Smut, You Have Been Warned, actually it's not that bad, period sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absence makes the heart - and body - grow fonder.  Trevelyan comes home to Cullen after a long time away, but will Nature thwart the two lovebirds?  Kmeme fill, NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> There were what, three? prompts on the meme asking for period sex or period sex after being apart a long time. I'll only c/p one of them here. I find it amusing that I've done two fills - that's it, we're good right? Anyway, this is cleaned up and edited because first drafts lol.
> 
> (Meet Aeveth Trevelyan.)
> 
> Prompt: Sex while F!Inquisitor is on her period. Any LI and any type of Inquisitor - just because I'm desperate to see this kink filled.

Inquisition homecomings are quite the affair, Inquisitor Aeveth Trevelyan grouses as she rides across the bridge to Skyhold. The chantry bells are ringing, tolling out the news of her return, and as she and her party draw closer to the main gate, she can make out people beginning to cluster together in the courtyard.  It's been a long, draining trip from the Western Approach, and her entire party is ready to be home.  Behind her she can hear Varric and Dorian chatting, discussing in weary tones how tired they are, how much they're looking forward to resting in their own quarters tonight.

They are all travel-worn, and Aeveth wishes that she could be like Cassandra and Varric and Dorian, to be able to dismount and go straight for a bath and a clean change of clothes. But for her a homecoming means endless talks, meetings, plans, with barely a moment to catch her bearings. She sets her mouth in a line, assuming the stern Inquisitor face. Cassandra gives her a sympathetic smile as they pass under the portcullis, lays her hand briefly on Aeveth's shoulder. 

She acknowledges the gesture with a nod and a half-smile, then a wistful look as the warrior puts her heels to her mount and sets off at a trot to the stables. Aeveth, on the other hand, is now beset by well-wishers and believers, petitioners and noblemen looking to curry favor. "Inquisitor!" one of them calls out, then, "Inquisitor! Inquisitor!" _Like a flock of sea birds,_ Aeveth thinks sourly, clicking at her Taslin strider to get her walking again. A flock of sea birds constantly squawking at her, hoping that she'd fix this problem and that.

A glint catches the corner of her eye. Aeveth looks up, sees golden sunshine flashing off of Cullen's breastplate as he, Leliana, and Josephine appear on the main hall's steps. "Thank the Maker," Aeveth mutters, turning her horse towards them. If she can get to them fast, she can sequester herself with her advisors and avoid the crowd for a few hours. Maybe even a whole day.

She dismounts once she reaches the steps, practically sprints up the the stairs. "Urgent business," she huffs as she reaches the trio, blowing by them, ignoring the clamor of the crowd. She's been gone for over a month, about five or six weeks, and there is probably a to-do list longer than a dragon's wingspan. Her advisors follow as she makes a beeline for her quarters. She hustles them inside and shuts the door behind them, sighing loudly.

"Inquisitor," Josephine begins, "welcome back to Skyhold."

"You must be exhausted," says Leliana, giving her a sympathetic look much like Cassandra's. "We have much to discuss. Yet that can wait, can't it? Welcome back."

"We'll keep them occupied," Cullen says.

Aeveth looks at him, truly looks at him, finds that she can't look away. A smile is beginning to play around her mouth. Damn it, she thinks, trying to force her expression back to its official Inquisitor sternness. She isn't sure if it's successful or not, given how the corners of Cullen's mouth are twitching. "Cassandra has some important materiel for you," she blurts out so she can stop trying to grin like a loon.  Five? Six? weeks without seeing him, and she turns into an infatuated, moon-eyed girl. _Patience,_ she tells herself. _Nothing will happen tonight anyway._ It's another thing for her to be sour about. She's on her cycle.

"I'll go see her right away," Cullen responds, then bows and excuses himself. Aeveth sighs again, then turns to Josephine and Leliana. She can at least keep a straight face around them. Was that an amused look in Leliana's eyes?

"Have the most urgent matters sent up to my desk," she tells them, pulling off her riding gloves. "The rest I'll address at the war table."

The two women bow. "Yes, Inquisitor," Josephine says, then leaves the hallway with Leliana.

She's finally alone. Aeveth stands still for a moment, simply experiencing the feeling of doing nothing, of hearing silence, being by herself. She backs up, hits the door, sags against it, looks up at the ceiling high above.  A heavy sigh gusts out of her.  After a minute she turns her gaze to the long staircase leading up to her quarters, starts trudging up the steps. A bath is what she wants.  Truth be told, she really wants Cullen, but she _needs_ a bath.  The likelihood of one awaiting her is very slim. 

She is pleasantly surprised, however, when she arrives in the bathroom to see a full tub, a sachet of dried flowers waiting for her on the floor. At this, she smiles to herself. Having Leliana's spy network was handy, though how they knew about her love for long, hot baths was a mystery to her. Perhaps when Cullen found the bathtub for her, she muses, beginning the process of stripping herself down. She can't wait to clean up and take the world's lengthiest soak.

Aeveth regrets her hasty decision as she stands shivering next to the bathtub, teeth chattering as she draws power through the Veil.  Maker, but her quarters are freezing, no matter how many rugs she piles onto the floor in an effort to ease the chill of mountain stone.  A heating spell blooms from her hand, and she plunges it deep into the tub, submerging her arm to the shoulder. The water hisses and froths at the sudden change in temperature.  Aeveth turns her head away to avoid having her face blasted with angry clouds of steam.

She tests the water with her other hand, deems it fit.  With an almost sexual moan she lowers herself gingerly into the scalding hot water, feels the heat take hold in her muscles and loosen them up. She sinks down to her neck in the almost comically large tub, leans her head back, closes her eyes.  The water is almost unbearably hot, so hot as to make her skin prickle mildly, but she pays it no heed.  It's time to relax and clear her mind of anything but the simple joy of a long soak.

* * *

Aeveth awakes to a kiss brushed across her forehead. She blinks up sleepily at Cullen, who's smiling down at her. "Mm," she says blearily, lifting a waterlogged hand and rubbing her eyes. "That was fast."

"Hardly." The commander gives her another chaste kiss, kneels down next to the tub. "You've been asleep for a while. I've had time to tidy up and put everything away."

It's true, she notes as she looks at him. He's wearing a simple tunic, tucked in loosely, and his leather breeches. His armor was probably hung perfectly on the form, his boots lined up just so at the foot of the bed, his scabbarded sword leaning against the left nightstand. Old Templar habits are hard to break, and her commander loves the ritual of the military. She squints at him, almost makes a disgusted noise at the lack of creases in the linen of his shirt.

Cullen watches her expression change with a mix of amusement and worry.  "Have I..." he begins, "I mean, what's..."

"Nothing, nothing.  Just wondering how you wear linen all day without it wrinkling."  An important question, to be sure.  She is the Inquisitor, after all.

Cullen snorts.  "The secret is," he tells her very seriously, "I changed my shirt."  He sees the face she makes at him, gives her a lopsided smirk. 

She changes tack.  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.  I'll get right out."  Aeveth starts to sit up.

Cullen shakes his head. "Take your time. You've earned it. I’ll wait without.”

Aeveth unravels her spell, gets out of the tub. She shivers at the slap of cold air, grabs a towel, dries herself off, prepares her smallclothes. As she is working the towel through her hair, she spots Cullen’s fur-collared coat hanging from a hook on the door. “That’s suitably warm,” she says under her breath, shrugging it on over bare shoulders. Even if nothing is going to happen, there isn’t any reason why she can’t tease her love just a little.

She exits the bathroom to find Cullen seated in front of the fireplace, a sheaf of papers in hand, studying them intently. He looks up at her, stares, then sets his work aside. “You look marvelous,” he says, standing and coming to her, taking her into his arms.

“As do you,” Aeveth says, and she means it.  Seeing Cullen with her own eyes, feeling his arms around her, smelling his warm, comforting scent, all of it is a balm for her heart.  She reaches up to run fingers through his hair. Cullen closes his eyes and leans into her touch.  "I'm sorry I was away for so long."

"I have missed you," Cullen says to her, and the way he says _missed_ makes her chest ache.  He kisses her softly, just a brush of his lips on hers.  A little kiss, as if he's asking permission to continue.  When she smiles up at him he kisses her again.  Aeveth delights in how Cullen kisses, so deliberate and _caring_ , how his eyelids flutter closed just a millisecond before his lips press against her, how he sighs, almost imperceptible, when they part.  He kisses her like it's the only thing that matters, kisses her for the sake of kissing her.

He looks into her eyes and Aeveth finds herself falling into them, swallowed up by his depth of emotion.  Not for the first time Aeveth can feel herself swooning - swooning! - as if she were some fairy tale princess that has just been saved.  To hear Cullen tell it, it would be her doing the saving, but Aeveth knows that their relationship is one of mutual need and want, respect and admiration.

Cullen leans forward again, lips more insistent on hers this time.  Aeveth opens up to him, her mouth yielding, tongue tasting him.  She feels his hands cup her face, thumbs coming to rest feather-light against her cheekbones.  She mirrors his movement, setting her palms against the stubble-roughened plane of his jaw, fingers pulling him closer to her.  Eventually her hands wander; she slips one hand around the back of his neck, uses the other to stroke his temple with the backs of her fingers, traces the contour of his eyebrows with her thumbs.  Aeveth shudders as Cullen slips a hand under the coat, drags fingertips up her side from hip to ribs, curves his palm around the roundness of her breast, his finger brushing against her nipple.  She feels desire sparking to life in her, her heartbeat accelerating.  She wants him, and it would be so, so easy to just...

But.  "Cullen." Aeveth pulls away, avoiding his lips so she can speak.  "Not now, I can't - I'm in that time.  Can you wait a day?"

He looks at her, and it takes a moment for his amber eyes to clear, for him to understand what she means.  "You've been away over a month," he says, voice urgent.  "I need you."

"It won't bother you?" she asks him, unbelieving.

In response, Cullen kisses her hard and openmouthed.  Aeveth feels that little spark kindle into a fire, turn into a pulsing need between her legs.  She moans, pressing herself against him, kissing him back.  She can feel how hard he is under his leathers, and when she reaches out and squeezes him he sighs low against her lips.  "Maker," Cullen says, his voice a rumble.  "I don't give a damn about it, I just need to be inside -" 

Cullen cuts himself off, takes action instead.  He pushes her towards the bed, and lays her down.  Then in a beautiful, swift movement, he pulls his tunic over his head, his stomach muscles revealed and rippling as he stretches up.  Aeveth can't help but admire his body in its motion, her eyes drawn to chest and arms, the tops of his hipbones peeking out from the waist of his leather breeches.  With one quick motion Cullen unlaces himself, and Aeveth's body thrills as his cock springs free.  She stares at it, at him, arrested by the sight.  Cullen is _beautiful._

"Maker help me," she whispers.  "I can't wait a day either. I want you, Cullen." It's been over a month without his touch, and Aeveth hungers to know Cullen again, know him in all the ways she knew him before she left.  She wants to test her memory, pit remembrance against reality, see if her intimate knowledge of him is still truth.  She craves their joining, the sensation of being one, their chests rising and falling together as they sync, coming home to each other.

He says nothing, only climbs up onto the bed, touching his chest to her stomach, sliding his smooth, bare flesh across hers.  His skin is hot, as if his pent-up need is burning in him, and Aeveth delights in the touch of skin on skin, wrapping her arms and legs around him as his lips meet hers again in a deep, passionate kiss.  

"Allow me," Cullen says to her as they pull apart, his voice low and gentle, the voice he only uses for her.  Aeveth grins at him then, releasing his body, stretching her arms over her head and pushing her breasts against him.  Allow him to do all the work?  She's fine with that, for now.

He closes his eyes at her movement, exhales sharply, bites his lip and looks away.  When he has control of himself again he looks into her eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up in that smirk she finds both endearing and sexy.  "This won't do," he says, shifting so that he can take hold of the fur collar of his coat.  "Not at all."  He pushes the coat off her shoulders, palms following the contours of her body, then dips his head down and kisses her bared flesh.  It's chilly again without the coat, and her skin prickles up into goosebumps.  She feels her nipples harden.

Cullen's mouth descends upon her breast and Aeveth arches into the contact, a small sigh issuing from her.  Cullen props himself up on one elbow, gets the other arm under her back, then he pulls her up to him easily, accentuating her movement.  Aeveth closes her eyes and lets her head loll back as Cullen kisses anything in reach - breasts, the space between them, the path leading up to the hollow of her neck, her throat, where low moans are being produced.  He hmms his satisfaction at her noises, lets his lips drift up under her chin, over her jawbone, back to her lips.

She can't help it.  Aeveth seals her mouth against Cullen's, tongue searching for his, thirsting.

Cullen rolls his weight back over her, steadies himself on both elbows, places his hands against the sides of her face, kisses her back.  Aeveth moans again as his fingers tangle in her hair, holding her, directing her, pulling her head to one side so that he can unleash a flurry of kisses down her neck.  Up and down, and into the hollow of her throat again, then back up to the other side, and then Aeveth just quits keeping track of anything at all.  It's just her and Cullen, her and his lips upon her, hands gripping her hair lightly, his stubble scraping over her collarbone.  She inhales, takes his scent in.  It is heady and incredibly alluring.  "Cullen," she says, wanting to tell him how turned on she is, but all she can say is, "Cullen, _Cullen_."

Instead Aeveth wiggles her hands down to her smallclothes, and as she begins to pull them down little by little, she realizes that she is wet.  Very wet.  "Cullen," she breathes again, and he helps her, reaching down, hooking a finger into the waistband, yanking them down and off.  He gives her a quick kiss and a smile, and extricates himself from her long enough to pick up her discarded towel and place it underneath her.

"Where were we?" he murmurs into her ear, nipping at it lightly.

Aeveth rolls her hips against his, and he answers with a roll of his own.  She can feel how wet she is against him, so she reaches down, touches a finger to herself, gasps in surprise at just how slick she is.  She can't help but rub that slick over her clit and around her lower lips, her body beginning to thrum at the pleasurable contact.  Cullen's grin is a bright thing, and he surges against her, putting exquisite pressure on her.  Aeveth moans again, tilts her pelvis up just so, and before either of them can think Cullen has entered her, sunk into her. 

Their thighs touch and Cullen's breath hisses through his teeth.  Aeveth's fingers dig into his shoulderblades as she shifts her hips carefully left, then right, then left again, working Cullen's length into her until he is sheathed to the hilt.  Aeveth can't determine whether her heightened sensations are from her cycle's extra sensitivity or Cullen's prolonged absence, but Maker, she can feel every inch, every centimeter pushing against her walls, feel exactly how hard he is, feel every little ridge along him.  She can feel how deliciously she is being stretched, how his girth is taking her to that place between pleasure and discomfort.  Aeveth rolls her hips again, harder this time, trying to take even more of Cullen inside her.  He stills above her, a quiet groan escaping him.  For a long moment he holds his position, breaths controlled and even, and Aeveth can feel the paper-thin barrier of his resistance tearing away.

Cautiously, Cullen begins to move in her, establishing a slow, smooth rhythm on which to plateau.  Aeveth has no argument with his decision.  She loves everything about this, the almost reverent nature of their joining, the near-silence broken only by soft exhalations and the sound of slick flesh against slick flesh.  "Oh," Aeveth sighs out, "Cullen, Cullen," and she whispers, telling him how much she adores having him inside her, how she can't tell where she ends and he begins.  Aeveth has long since gotten over her embarrassment at talk such as this, especially since Cullen responds so incredibly to her praise.  Cullen acknowledges her with wordless murmurs between kisses, and he picks up the pace.

Aeveth takes a moment to admire her lover, allowing herself to be awed by his physicality.  She re-commits to memory the curve of his biceps, the contour of his chest, the tantalizing, shadowy dips at the tops of his shoulders where the muscles meet the bone.  Aeveth splays her hands out over Cullen's back, feeling his power tightly contained there, follows the lines of his body to his trim waist, fingers pressing against hipbones whenever they draw near.  Cullen kisses her and she forgets what she's doing, kisses him back, pushes her hips up at him, tilting them so he hits a new spot inside her.  She moans, arching.  Cullen smiles against her mouth.  "I love you," he says.

"I love you," Aeveth replies, eyes closed.  "Cullen, that feels incredible..."

Aeveth reaches down, finds where he is joined to her, traces the seam of him and her, trails fingertips along his cock as it slides in and out.  She takes the slick - and Maker, she is wet, so fuckably wet - and begins working herself, fingers drawing circles around her clit.  It's not long before she begins panting, her climax building.  She needs to hold back, just a little bit.  Just... Just a little.  "Cullen," she says, his name pressing out of her throat, "Cullen, please, I'm going to -"

Cullen buries his face into her shoulder and groans.  He pulls out partway, and with a grunt he shoves into her hard and fast, begins a rhythm that has her pulsing against the bed, moans rising and falling to the beat of his hips.  His composure is gone, and Aeveth cries out at how completely he has abandoned it, how fervently he's thrusting into her.  She gives herself over then, gives herself that one final rub, and then she comes, hard.

A high-pitched wail explodes from her, and she convulses, shuddering, her orgasm like an earthquake in her.  It crashes into her like a giant wave, rolls her under, lets her take a breath before rolling her under again.  Aeveth sobs and keens, body writhing and arching as she continues to come.  Everything is thrumming in her, and Aeveth can feel her rippling contractions driving Cullen inexorably towards his release.

Cullen clutches her, pushes his forehead against her neck and shoulder.  His breaths grow shorter and faster as he takes her through her orgasm.  Aeveth encircles his waist with her legs, finds a deeper spot, whines as she comes again, lightning-fast.  "Please," Aeveth begs between the peaks of her orgasm.  She wants him to let go, to be pumped full of his seed, to be the only one to see him like this.  "Cullen, please!"  

Cullen's breath hitches gorgeously in his throat right before he comes.  His rhythm changes, and suddenly Cullen is gasping, panting, growling into her neck as he comes, his thrusts shoving her into the bed.  She feels warmth and wetness explode around them as Cullen fills her.  It's so much, so much, and the idea of all his seed inside her only serves to make her come again.   She clutches him, eliciting a desperate groan.

"Maker," Cullen says like a prayer, then, "Aeveth," and with a wordless _ah_ he finishes spending himself, riding out the last eddies of his orgasm.  Aeveth takes a breath, pushes her finger hard against her clit again.  Cullen's surprised gasp is all she needs to come one last time, her voice rising on a yelp.

As she comes down, Cullen gives her a lingering kiss on her neck, pulls away, smiles dazedly.  "Andraste's tits," he swears, and Aeveth laughs, finding his mild profanity adorable.  Carefully, Cullen pulls out.  Aeveth suppresses a groan at the loss, feels wetness leaking, dripping out of her.  She can smell his scent on her if she breathes deeply enough, his scent tinged with a faint coppery tang.  Aeveth inhales and exhales slowly, taking it all in.  She wants nothing more than to lie on the bed, tangled up in Cullen, enjoying the sensation of being well and thoroughly fucked.

He stirs finally.  "I love you," he tells her, and she believes it, can see it in all his body language.

"I love you," she replies, "to _bits._ "

"Welcome home." Cullen smiles at her tenderly, rises from the bed to begin the cleanup process.  "My lady Inquisitor."

She smiles back at him, bliss and lassitude intermingling in her.  "My golden commander," she replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
